Flying High Again
by J. P. Tuesday
Summary: After his fatal confrontation with Benny, the Courier turns to Jet to take the pain away. Oneshot fill for the Fallout kinkmeme.


Strung out again, swimming in an alternate reality. The visions were different day to day, depending on what he was using to escape. He was slumped in the corner of his suite in the Lucky 38, inhaling another canister of Jet. Tossing the empty inhaler aside, it landed in a pile of other discarded paraphernalia. Flying high again. The feeling of euphoria was brief, briefer than the distraught courier would like. It took away the constant headaches emanating from the scar in the center of his forehead and made him forget… forget about a lot of things. Gone were the moments that were a struggle, gone was the criticism that he received on behalf of his friends, gone was the time when he struck down the ridiculously handsome, smooth-talking gent in his own casino. The begs that crashed on his ears, the ropes bound around his hands, the final chapter that exited with a _bang_ that lead to another beginning. Blood everywhere – on the walls behind his fated body, on the floor, all over his shirt and face. As he could see the red fill in his eyes, he knew that he was coming down. Repeat the process.

Cass knocked on the door. "Adam! You're not whacking off again, are you? Lemme come in."

She threw open the door to find a sorry sight – the courier, wan and eyes sunken-in, huffing once more like it was the fruit of the gods. His eyes stared past Cass into the far reaches of his drug-addled imagination. Colors became more vivid and popped out of nowhere, saturating the sallow shades of the walls around him. Cass changed colors too, from fleshy to salmon to fuchsia then back again. Time moved at a crawl as Cass grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him hard, screaming in his face. He couldn't hear what was being said; it was all mumbles and jumbles.

"You're fucking killing yourself!"

Adam cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips. "Oh, hiiiiiiii."

"Like your sorry ass? Fuck. I would have never figured you for a fucking junkie, but I guess that explains the way you've been looking." She sighed long and deep. "Whatever are we gonna do with you? You haven't been quite the same since you offed that shithead."

The courier was unresponsive, choosing to ride his high like a magic cloud. It wasn't going to last long, anyway. Pretty soon he would be pawing for another canister of Jet hidden under the bed.

Cass couldn't bear to see another frame of his addiction. She turned her back and walked out the door, downstairs to where the rest of his friends waited. Gritting her teeth, she pulled a bottle of whiskey from her pack and went to town. At least her addiction was a fucking normal one (according to her), not that weird shit that causes people's minds to fry and fizzle out. She explained everything to his loyal companions, one and all, everything that she witnessed in those couple of minutes.

By now, Adam had not touched Jet in a couple of hours. He had become easily startled and jumpy. His heart felt like it was palpitating out of his chest cavity. He needed to forget the events that took place in the casino down the main drag. The way he whipped out his pistol from his side, the way Benny's screams clung to his ears as he made the motions that lingered in his brain frame-by-frame, the way the blood, the warm rusty blood, sprayed onto his body. The way that he looked absolutely helpless in his final moments, those eyes that pleaded to change. That all needed to be wiped clean. But it couldn't now. Cass had him tied to a chair.

"Look, we hated to do this. It's for your own good."

His breathing was quick-paced, echoing the motions of his heart. "Please, get me out… out of here!" He struggled against his bindings, attempting to wriggle out of them. No way was that happening – Cass knew how to tie knots tight.

"No can do." She sat on the edge of the bed, feet dangling mere inches from the floor. Veronica sat next to her, shaking her head. Normally, she'd be aching to say anything, but now she was uncharacteristically silent. She didn't know how to respond to all of this. She opened her mouth a couple of times but nothing came out. Then something switched on in her head.

"We're going to need you to get better. You're better than this."

His fingers tapped nervously, furiously, against the wooden seat of the chair. "But I see it again! Please! Just one more hit, please!" His words were all in vain as Cass went looking for all of his hidden stashes. She brought out armfuls.

"Look at all of this shit! This is not the way you deal with your problems!"

The way the blood felt as it hit his face, splashed in his eyes. The way the skull split from the sheer force of the bullet as he shot him point-blank. The way his body slumped and splatted against the wall after all traces of life had escaped from it. That jacket, now red and black. It needed to disappear.

"It's going to get worse before it gets better. Withdrawal, that's the hard part."

Veronica gave the courier a bear hug. "We're all in this together."


End file.
